Socially Objectionable
by Stencil Your Heart
Summary: Somewhat of a companion piece to Nod If You Can Hear Me. Everyone thought it was an accident, that he probably never even saw the train coming. And he didn't... did he? Rated T for mild language and suicide. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: **Don't own anything you recognize. Bummer.

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Socially Objectionable

Ray Brower was always perceived as a "normal kid".

He had a socially acceptable middle class family, parents with socially acceptable occupations, a socially acceptable house in a socially acceptable part of town, and siblings that any socially acceptable married couple would be proud of. It is safe to say that the Browers were, in fact, socially acceptable.

Ray himself was, as stated, a reasonably average kid. He was just Ray, a tall, lanky almost-teen who read too many comic books and watched too much of the Mickey Mouse Club. He was neither the artist that his little brother was, nor the academic prodigy as was his college-bound sister, but he fit in quite well between them and his lack of exceptional talent was easily overlooked.

He was normal. He was socially acceptable. And he hated it.

He hated everything about his perfect, smudge-free life. He hated the way his mother always had dinner ready at exactly 6:30. He hated the way his father always planted a chaste kiss on his mother's lips when he left for work in the morning. He hated his sister with her polka-dot dresses that could never be shorter than mid-calf. He hated his brother's Beatles haircut and the way he always called him "big bro". He hated everything, and he wanted out. His only obstacle was how he was going to do it.

He thought about it for weeks, wracking his brain for any method that seemed good enough. It wasn't until one day, a little before the start of school, that it finally hit him. No pun intended.

He had been sitting on the sofa (a socially acceptable sofa, of course, made out of 100 percent fake Italian leather) watching the Mickey Mouse Club and trying to figure out if the "A" and "E" on Annette's shirt were starting to bend around the sides or if he was just imagining things, when his mother's voice floated in from the kitchen.

"Ray, darling, would you mind going to fetch some blueberries for me? I'd like to make some pies for the Labor Day celebration."

Did Ray mind going to get his mother the berries? Of course he did. It took every ounce of will power he had not to tell her where she could shove her damn blueberries. But a rebelling child was certainly _not _socially acceptable, so Ray took the basket she was offering him with a smile, said goodbye to his brother ("Bring back some extra for me, okay, Big Bro?"), and went on his way.

There was a field of blueberries on the outskirts of town that Ray had become considerably familiar with over the years, due to his mother's slightly compulsive need to bake at least a dozen blueberry pies for every holiday, birthday, festival, parade, or other town event that occurred.

Ray hated blueberries – they left a bad taste in his mouth. He always thought they were like the strawberry's second cousin that gets drunk at family reunions and ends up face-first in the rose bushes.

The only reason he could tolerate spending so much time in that field was because the railroad tracks were just a couple hundred feet away. He'd always loved trains – the way the whistle pierced his ears and if he closed his eyes, it almost blocked out his thoughts completely. It was almost an escape.

A slight "mew" mixed with the nearing whistle of a train caused him to avert his attention from his berry-picking and refocus it on the train tracks, where a small grey cat was sitting, licking its paw. He closed his eyes and waited. At that moment, he was glad for his little ritual – he liked cats. There just wasn't enough time…

The whistle grew louder, and for a moment it was almost like Ray was standing directly beside the tracks, feeling the rush of wind on his face. He was half-way convinced that if he were to stretch his arm out, the tips of his fingers would be met with the cold, hard surface of the train.

The whistle faded, leaving Ray with a ringing in his ears and the distinctive smell of smoke and rusty pennies in his nostrils. He opened his eyes, not daring to look at the spot where the cat had been moments before.

It amazed him how quickly life could be taken away from something. Or how slowly.

There was a light "swish" as something brushed against the leg of his pants. He looked down, and there was the little grey cat, rolling on its back as if nothing had happened. Ray smiled. Train dodge.

It was in that moment that he decided upon his course of action. It was as clear and definite in his mind as if he'd known it all along. And, hell, maybe he had.

He picked up the basket of blueberries, although he wasn't really sure why, and turned to leave. The cat got up and started to follow him.

"No." He said. "You have to stay here."

The cat tilted its head to the side, staring at Ray with wide, yellow eyes.

"No." He repeated. "You can't follow me."

The words seemed to light a fire in Ray. He turned his back on the feline, who had resumed the cleaning of its paw, and ran alongside the tracks. He wasn't sure exactly where he was going, and frankly, he didn't really care.

_You can't follow me._

No, they couldn't follow him, not his mother, not his brother, not anyone.

_You have to stay here._

They all had to stay there – everyone. He was leaving and they weren't allowed to follow him.

Ray walked through the night. He didn't need to sleep; he couldn't. The adrenaline pumping through his veins was keeping him wide awake. He wasn't sure if time was speeding up or slowing down, but it didn't really matter. Ray had always been patient.

It was morning when he finally found the perfect spot. It was secluded, located just on the other side of the trees that lined the Back Harlow Road.

He grinned to himself as he sat down on the tracks and waited. Now, there was plenty of time.

Oh, what would his mother think of this godforsaken place, dirty and desolate as it was? She would have hated it, and that made it perfect.

Ray wasn't sure how long he had waited before the train finally came – time had become nugatory to him – but he heard it before he saw it. He stood, his knees slightly shaky, closed his eyes, and let the whistle pierce his ears and fill up his entire body. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach and the tips of his fingers.

_You can't follow me._

Ray smiled.

He opened his eyes (to Hell with his stupid ritual), stretched out his arm, and felt the cool steel against his fingers.

This was certainly not socially acceptable.

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It took way longer to get this out than I thought it would. But I always say that. I'm such a procrastinator. 

Just to clear a few things up before I end up with a bunch of "LAWLZ, wtf no this isn't right!" reviews:  
NO, I am not condoning suicide. Life is good, children. Be happy!  
And YES, I am aware that if you were to get hit by a train with your arm stretched straight out, there's a darn good chance you would end up with one seriously mutilated arm, which Ray did not (to the best of my knowledge) have. That's what your imagination is for.  
If there's anything else that looks funky and out-of-place, just pretend it doesn't or something. Woo woo.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. :)


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